Fille de Mort
by Ardis' Lily
Summary: Sometimes when we meet new people we know that there is something wrong with them, that they are...different. Sometimes broken. Harry and his two best friends are about to meet someone who is still breaking. Not a Mary-Sue, I assure you!


Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me but Nadia and her 'grandmother' do. :P Thats's mine! :)  
  
The Beginning  
  
The hall was dark, shadows filling the stretch of stone and glass, creating illusions to fool the mind and still the heart. This was the first thing he noticed. The second was that it was cold, a breeze from an unknown source sweeping down the corridor and causing his shallow breath to come out in visible puffs of steam. A single silver shaft of moonlight leaks in through the frosted glass of the one closed window that decorates the hall, illuminating a spot in the very center. In the light stands a girl, skin as pallid as parchment and long hair as black as ink with eyes to match. She stands staring, hands hanging loosely at her sides, her form portraying one who is utterly unaware and unresponsive to the world around her. And then her eyes of ink focused on him and she smiled. His scar flared with pain.  
Harry Potter awoke from the dream with an abrupt jerk, the unpleasant feeling of waking up to quickly taking his breath away and disorienting the thoughts of his location for a few moments. He sat in his bed, hands propping him up, sheets tangled uncomfortably around his legs. His scar was stinging now, a ghost feeling of the pain just minutes before. He was at his Aunt and Uncle's home, in his small bedroom, on the upper floor of Number Four, Privet Drive. The boy took a deep breath, sighing and rubbing his face tiredly. The date was August 6th, he had been 16 years old for a week. He didn't feel any different and very much doubted he looked it.  
Sighing again he groped for his glasses blindly in the dark, shoving them onto his face and blinking owlishly at his moonlit room. Nothing had changed in the duration sine he had first closed his eyes that night. Hedwig's cage still sat perched on his dresser, clothes were still thrown half-hazardly upon the rooms floor, and the mirror Sirius had given him last year still sat on his bedside table, untouched.  
He frowned, thoughts returning to the dream. The girl...who was she? Did it even matter? He touched his scar again. She had reminded him of someone...but who? Someone very important.  
The Boy Who Lived shook his head in an attempt to dislodge the thoughts. It didn't matter now, he thought and as his head fell back to hit his pillow. He would think about it later...right now, he just wanted to sleep.  
  
Not all young Witches and Wizards are taught the gift of spells, potions and magical history by the several schools of magic that are available to them. Some in fact learn in the classrooms of their own homes, their professors; their parents, or other sort of guardian. It is not because of a lesser capability or skill do these few magical youths learn on a separate agenda, in the case of Nadia Cruff these reasons do certainly not apply. The truth of the matter was that in Nadia's 11th year a letter from Hogwarts arrived requesting the acceptence of her as a student. A letter had returned saying that though the acceptence was an honor it was preferred that Nadia stay at home and learn magic from her grandmother.  
She lived on the western side of the Forbidden Forest, miles and miles away from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She lived alone with only the woman who had taken care of and taught all the magic she knew since she was a year old. The house they shared was modest, big enough for two and yet not big enough to be overburdened with extra space. The cottage itself stood on the outskirts of the forest itself, surrounded by a few straggling trees trying desperately to enlarge the acreage of the dark forest and failing miserably.  
If one tried they could have made this place cozy. But at this moment in time the word Ôcozy' would be the last word to be used in its description. Its slate gray stones made it cold, its dark interior made it spooky, and its inhabitants made it evil.  
Just as all young Witches and Wizards are not taught in the schools, not all of them are innocent either. Nadia Cruff had not been innocent since she was three and her caretaker and teacher, even longer then that. Nadia Cruff did not attend a school of magic because her future had already been decided for her as one immersed in the Dark Arts and power. And no school would ever had taught her properly. Not to the extent her father had in mind anyway. At the age of 16 now Nadia knew pain, she knew suffering, she knew darkness, she knew more curses and hexes then most full fledged Witches and Wizards. And she most certainly knew death. Nadia with her pallid ghost skin, cold coal eyes, curtained black hair, and small red mouth, was no better then her father. He would be proud if he knew her.  
Her guardian, who had taught her everything, couldn't be more thrilled.  
  
Please review. It lets me know whether or not I should continue. :) Thanks bunches. 


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